Tyke gave me a pointed look. “Lane’s friend, Aubrey. Who else?”

My eyebrows rose. “Realllllly? Wow. I thought they just hooked up.”

He shrugged. “Apparently he spent the entire break with her in New York, and he’s been on the phone with her now for the last hour.”

“Huh.” I was shocked. My best friend was a totally the bag ‘em and leave ‘em type. The only person he’d ever had a long-term relationship with was Sophie, and even that had only lasted two months before she claimed to have slept with me, but he never acted like he was smitten with her. There must’ve been something about Aubrey that hooked him. For as long as I had known him, I’d never seen that happen before.

Tyke chugged the rest of his beer and then tossed it in the trash. “Did you hear Attack Jacket dropped off the rest of the tour?”

“What? When did this happen and why am I just now hearing about this?”

“Try getting a landline out in that no man’s land you live in. We couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“Well who did the label get to cover?”

Tyke cocked his head. “Who does the label always get to cover?”

Fuck me. Shit. Shit. Shit. Not that asshole. Now his little scheme to get Lane to work for him was starting to make sense. He knew he was going to be around her and planned on using it for an excuse.

Damn his sneaky ass.

This was so not good. Striker needed to know Lane was off limits. If I slapped a huge carat of commitment on her finger, he sure as hell would take the hint to back the fuck off.

The perfect proposal was just going to have to be skipped. When I got a minute away, I was going to buy a ring and ask her the first chance I got.

Chapter 8

The next night Lane and I were backstage while Embrace the Darkness wrapped up their set. I never had a problem with them opening for us before, not until their frontman, Striker, tried to put the moves on my girl. Now, it was eating me alive I was so agitated by it.

The crowd loved them, screaming and interacting with the band. Women seemed to go crazy for the long-haired British front man. He got nearly as may panties tossed at him as Riff and I.

“Goodnight, Nashville!” Striker screamed over the microphone before he waved and exited the stage towards us.

The moment his eyes locked on Lane, a grin broke out of his face. “Lane, it’s good to see you. I’m excited to see what that marketing brain of yours comes up with for the line.”

“Thank you for the opportunity. It’ll look great on my resume,” Lane answered.

“No problem, love.” He smiled at her.

My jaw muscle clenched. I hated when he called her that and didn’t care if it was part of his British slang. It seemed too personal. And that smile. I was ready to knock it off his face.

As if on cue, Lane’s cell phone rang with her special “Your mother’s calling” ringtone. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.”

She stepped away from to take the call privately. I watched Striker’s eyes follow her, and I felt my blood boil beneath my skin. “I’m on to you.”

He snapped his gaze back to me and smirked. “Oh, yeah? Better be on your bloody toes then, mate.”

My eyes narrowed, and I closed the gap between us. “Watch it, fucker. I didn’t get to finish the job last time.”

Striker tipped his head up and stared at me. “It wasn’t quite a fair fight last time. Let’s see you try it when my back isn’t turned.”

Air rushed through my nostrils as I took a huge breath. Adrenaline flowed through my veins. This guy needed ended.

“Hey!” Lane’s voice rang in my ears as she shoved between us. “What’s going on here?”

Striker stepped back. “Ask your boyfriend,” he said before turning and walking away. “Lane, we’ll be in touch.”

She furrowed her brow at me the moment Striker was out of earshot. “What the hell, Noel? You promised.”

She started to storm away, but I caught her arm. “Wait, Lane. I’m sorry, but the things he was saying—”

“Don’t mean a thing! Regardless of his intentions, you need to trust me. Have faith in my love for you.”

My heart pounded in my chest as I dropped her arm and allowed her to walk away. She was right. Relationships were built on trust, and I sure as hell didn’t want to crumble mine by being an overbearing control freak.

I ran my fingers through my hair as I watched her leave.

“Ten minutes, Mr. Falcon,” the stage manager said as he walked by me.

“Okay. Yeah,” I answered numbly as a thousand thoughts of how I nearly just screwed over my relationship with Lane went through my mind.

It was hard for me to focus my entire set. On our fourth song, I screwed up the lyrics. Riff’s gaze whipped in my direction, and he crinkled his brow. Fighting with Lane always fucked with my head. I needed to get my shit together.

The crowd roared as I belted out the chorus of the last song. Sweat dripped down my face and back as I ran to each side of the stage and hyped them up. Their fists pumped in the air to the beat pounded out by Trip. The stage lights beamed down on me as I gripped the mic and sang one last note of Ball Busting Bitch, our biggest hit so far.

The drums got a few more kicks and then silence took over. “Thank you, Nashville!”

I wiped my face with a white towel and tossed it into the crowd. It landed about fifteen feet into the crowd and instantly the shoving began. It always puzzled me why people would fight over a towel covered in my sweat.